Arab Strap

Arab Strap

The Last Romance (Transdreamer)

There comes a point in many terminal romances where their instability can only be expressed by sex. "Burn these sheets that we've just fucked in," spits Aidan Moffat in his thick Scottish brogue, first line of The Last Romance, and from that cold wet spot, Arab Strap's sixth burning dysfunction never bats a single thick eyelash of remorse or self-illusion. Two searing minutes of "Stink" as an opener will do just that. Strapping co-dependant Malcolm Middleton, aided by a hamlet's worth of accomplices almost eclipsed by Nicola MacLeod's too scarce vocal counterpoint, matches Moffat's seething confessionals with branding musical accompaniment. Scoot off those damp sheets when cello and violin strip back the rubber casing on Middleton's guitar parts or you'll fry. Ten tracks equal one very explicit diary entry of lust – for life, as much as intimacy – nearly every single line worthy of another song cycle. "Confessions of a Big Brother": "It's hilarious to think I thought by now I'd have a wife. I've always been so desperate to give away my life. Then I just get lazy. I've got everything assumed. Sometimes there's nothing sexier than knowing that you're doomed." And "Come Round and Love Me": "Hurry and finish your unhealthy breakfast, then it's straight back to bed. Did you bring something with you today, to fuck away my sore head?" The nervy jitters of "Speed-Date": "The ugly, tattooed swingers euphemise, and call their mucky hobby 'trysts,' but if I saw another man touch you, I'd break his fucking wrists." There's no recovering from The Last Romance.